


Acerbic

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [328]
Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Episode s02e09 On the Line, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 12:17:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14592861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: acerbic: adjective: ə-ˈsər-bik , a-: sharply or bitingly critical, sarcastic, or ironic in temper, mood, or tonefrom Merriam-Webster:English speakers created "acerbic" in the 19th century by adding "-ic" to the adjective "acerb." "Acerb" had been around since the 17th century, but for most of that time it had been used with only a literal "sour-tasting" sense. (The word acerb is still around today, but it is now simply a less common synonym of "acerbic.") "Acerbic" and "acerb" ultimately come from the Latin adjective acerbus, which can mean "harsh," "bitter," or "unpleasant." Another English word that comes from "acerbus" is "exacerbate," which means "to make more violent, bitter, or severe."





	Acerbic

From the very moment they met, he had challenged her sensibilities in a way that she knew had he been anyone else, she would have walked right out the door a few moments after meeting his gaze; but a year into their relationship, if asked, she wasn't sure she could honestly say why she stayed that morning, and continued to remain. He was acerbic on a good day, if he found fault with something, everyone on the block knew about it, he had no boundaries, no filters, and yet she admired his ability to speak honestly when it would be simpler to toe the line, or play well with others. He simply could not expend the energy. She recalled their conversation earlier in the week.

"You know -"

He placed a few more brushstrokes on the diorama that at first glance might be a cherished doll's house; if one looked closely, however, one realised it was a collection of crime scenes, one horror after another. He sighed as he stopped abruptly, then dropped the brush into the jar of water. "It would be easier if I were nice."

"We need to -" she began, but knew she was wasting her breath.

"There is something you must understand about me, Watson. I am not a nice person. There is not a softer, kinder version of me if you dig deeper."

"But, I know -" she tried again. 

Sherlock turned his focus on her and she wondered if she would ever become accustomed to what she could see in his eyes, probably not, she considered after a moment. "Watson. You are an exceptional person. So I make an exceptional effort to accomodate you. I think you are aware of that." 

He paused and she knew he was trying to find a way to explain himself to her, which was not something he was fond of doing. "When I see our 'colleagues' as you call them, fail in their responsibilities, and try to blame others around them, I cannot stand by silently, I have to call it out, name it for what it is. Perhaps it is simple laziness, or carelessness, but those things can often be corrected with attentiveness. I have no patience for those who cannot be bothered to at the very least take care. Being nice is often a hindrance in our work, far too much time is wasted on niceties. I think you, of all people, know that the world, generally speaking is not a nice place; every day, we see the ugliest side of humanity. I cannot go out into the world worrying if someone is going to care whether I was 'nice' or not. My work, our work, is to cut through the manners and lies to get to a solution, to solve the ugliness. I am not a nice person, it is just something you will grow to understand and accept about me."

 

She had no real response to that, and she supposed if she were honest with herself, she had known what he had said was true. Looking back to the first days and weeks of their companionship, she knew he was making a heroic effort to be kind, though at the same time, he was trying to discover the buttons to push that would make her finally leave. She had learned that he expected anyone close to him would leave, eventually, and he wanted to see how far he had to go before she would abandon him like everyone had before. 

He had discovered caring for another made life messy, complicated, it disturbed his equilibrium, his ability to see with clarity, and he did not intend to make a similar misstep again. When he had understood that she was staying not just for a salary, or to make sure he stayed clean, but because she wanted to be there for herself, to learn from him, reinvent herself yet again, somewhat in his image, he slowly let her in, whether he could acknowledge it to himself or not. She smiled to herself as she watched him at the stove, making crepes. He was not a nice person, she considered. He would always be abrupt, too honest. He would always see far too much, and always know he knew more than most of the people in any room he would venture into, but she also knew for certain, that he would always have her back.

"Morning, Watson. Crepe?"

"Please."


End file.
